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MY LADY 
POVERTY 




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MY LADY POVERTY 



A Drama in Five Acts 



BY 



FRANCIS DE SALES GLIEBE 
O, F. M. 



ST. ANTHONY COLLEGE 
SANTA BARBARA. GAL. 






All Rights Reserved. 



©GI.D 29:^39 



k 



MY LADY POVERTY. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



FRANCIS. 

PIETRO BERNARDONE, his father. 

GIOVANNI NEANDRINI, his friend 
and confidant. 

GUIDO, Bishop of Assisi. 

ORLANDO, a nobleman of Assisi, 

BERNARD DE VENTADOUR, a trou- 
badour. 



GIUSEPPE D'AMORE, 
ALBERTO MADRE, 
AMBROGIO RENIERI, 
EDUARDO SCARPELLO, 
LEONE SANDALI, 
LEONE BELLING, 
LUIGI CAPRINt, 

ANGELOCUNIEHI, a poor little boy. 



Servant to Pietro Bernardone. 
A physician. 

Nightwatchman of Assisi. 
Attendants. 



Scene: Assisi and Spoleto. 



MY LADY POVERTY. 



ACT I. 

SCENE 1. — Assisi. An open place before Francis' 
home. Enter Francis and Giovanni. 
FRANCIS. 
/^ joy! out in the open once again. 
^-^ Unfettered now, and freed from stubborn ills, 
I'd fain, like merry warbling bird, hie far 
Away into some shady forest glen, 
And there amid bright nature's melodies 
Pour out to God my sweetest song of praise. 

GIOVANNI. 
A joy it is even to hear you tell 
Your joy. But listen, iFrancis, a kindly message: 
The knot of your devoted friends did bid 
Me come to greet you with their heart's best 

wish, 
And say, how all rejoice to knov/ you well 
In health again. 

FRANCIS. 

So constant and so kind! 
GIOVANNI. 
They hope ere long to see you in their midst. 
To Itead, as you were wont, their sports and 
feasts. 

FRANCIS. 
My hope as well; may 't soon be realized. 

GIOVANNI. 
'All seems of late,' they say, 'so dull without 



The smile of Francis' cheerful face; w€ miss 
His igracious ways, his large resourceful mind 
And noble heart forgetting self; we lack 
Our troubadour's sweet songs of country, home, 
Religion, love, and glorious chivalry. 

FRANCIS. 
To all my comrades, most to you, Giovanni, 
Sincerest thanks. Oh never come the time 
When I unworthy prove of worthy friends! 

GIOVANNI. 
It will not, Francis. 

FRANCIS. 

Heaven grant it! — -Now. 
I pray, go with me into yonder wood. 
I yearn do drink in nature's freshness pure, 
And sate ..ny longing eyes with gazing rapt 
Her witching charms. Oh! how 't will glad 

my heart 
To range on hill and plain, to breathe the 

fields' 
Rich perfume, taste the leaping mountain rill, 
Roam through thick wilds and over sylvan 

paths. 
And linger as of old beneath the dome 
Of gently swaying boughs, amid the lisp 
Of rustling leaves, and scent of flowering herbs 
And trees. There shall my fancy freely play, 
My mem'ry fill with tender recollections. 
And overflow my soul with grateful joy 
To view the riches God has poured 
On Italy's pride, fair Umbria's land. 
GIOVANNI. 

Yes, Francis, 



Of nature you were ever passionate fond; 
And now, when to your large receptive fsense 
Her beauties she will new unfold, your blood 
Will course with fresh and healthful life; and we 
Again shall have what these drear days so -sore 
We lacked, the light and warmth diffusing air 
Of your companionship, — Come, let us go. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE 2. — Assiai. A street. Enter Orlando and 
Giuseppe meeting. 

G-IUSEPPE. 

Thy haste, my noble lord! 
ORLANDO. 

How canst thou ask? 
Hast not yet heard there's war afoot? The south, 
Apulia is the scene; the German nobles 
Rise up in rebel arms against the Pope, 
Our gracious Innocent. 

GIUSEPPE. 

That's news indeed. 
ORLANDO. 
I haste to enlist with Walter of Brienne, 
Defender of the Holy Father's rights; 
The 'Gentle Count' he's called, the bravest 

knight, 
They say, in Christendo'aa. 

GIUSEPPE. 

Not one of ours, 
I ween, of this knows aught. 
ORLANDO. 

Not strange: the gay 



And gaudy troop that Bernardone's son 
Doth lead are champions bold in banquet halls, 
And paladins at routs; theirs are battles 
With dainty dishes, feasts are all their deeds, 
Carousals their contests. — Fie on such knights! 
Knights of the table long, not 'Table Round.' 

GIUSEPPE. 
Mock us not. Lord Orlando. Young in years, 
We still are young in knightly deeds. But wait. 
And those whom now thou tauntst will startle 

yet 
The Christian world with wondrous feats for 

God, 
For Pope, and King, and country, truth and 

faith. 

ORLANDO. 
Fair dream. Giuseppe; and still I would your 

dream 
Might be fulfilled. 

GIUSEPPE. 

It shall, I warrant you. 
Have we not earnest of our future greatness? 
Mark: walking with our captain not long since. 
There met our crew a man of saintly fame. 
Who stepped before us, doffed his mantle, 

spread 
Tt out for Francis' tread, and solemn spoke 
In prophet guise and tone: 'My deep respect 
To him who will in time great wonders work. 
Whom all the world will yet extol and love.' — 
But pardon, I detain you. 

ORLANDO. 

My blame 't is, 

8 



Not yours, that 1 delay; I'll leave at once. 
Success to you and all your fellow knights. — • 
Farewell. 

GIUSEPPE. 
Farewell, noble sir. Prosper God 
Your enterprise. [Exit Orlando. 

A hardy soldier this. 
Adorned with every grace of knighthood. But — 
A trifle too sedate for me and grave. 
Giive me the sprightly disposition of Francis, 
Our jovial circle's gallant knight, Francis, 
Whose worth we've learned of late by loss to 

th' full 
To prize, o fortunate we! he'll soon be ours 
Again. — But who are these? My friends? 

Enter Alberto, Amhrogin, Eduardo, Leone 
Sandali, Leone Bellino and Liiigi. 

Well met. 
Companions! You go to our captains, do you 
not? 

ALBERTO. 
We do. And your intent? 

GIUSEPPE. 

The same. Long live 
Our leader FYancis! 

ALL. 
Long live our leader Francis! 
LEONE SANDALI. 
Oh what a joy, that he's restored to us 
Whose absence was for all so keen a trial! 

LUIGI. 
Life seemed a sickly thing without the spice 

9 



Of 's racy speech and aniaaated song: 
Darkened and chilled wars our youth's day when 

sank 
The sun of Ftaneis' glowing eye, and fled 
The warmth of Francis' igenial fellowship. 

LEONE BBLLINO. 
The good old times return; anon we'll have 
The full delights of former days to enjoy. 

AMBROGIO. 
Ha! how we'll make the streets resound with 

song 
rt.nd cheer, as we were wont, o' nights to crown 
The festive day. 

GIUSEPPE. 
Come, comrades, co-ne. Long live 
Our leader Francis! 

ALL. 
Long live our leader Franoi?! 
[Exeunt. 

SCENE 3. — A wood near Assist. Enter Francis 
and Giovanni. 

GIOVANNI, 
fere will we sit and rest. — You seem fatigued. 
FRANCIS. 
And so indeed I am. 

GIOVANNI. 

1 wonder much. 
Your long desired converse with nature done, 
You wear an anxious look. 
FRANCIS. 

So much you read 
T*]'en from my face? Giovanni, could you look 

10 



H' 



Into my "heart, you'd see and wonder more, 

GIOVANNI, 
What do you mean? 

FRANCIS. 

I know not whence, nor why. 
But certain 't is, a change is come on me. 

GIOVANNI. 
A change? 

FRANCIS. 
My love for nature 's vanished quite. 

GIOVANNI. 
A ♦'oolish thought! Assuredly now 't is not 
My Francis, but his sickness speaks. I know 
Whence comes your troubled state: too much 

you hoped 
Prom your yet feeble health. You do forget 
That where the body 's ill, the soul can not 
Un'iiiixed delight in life, and prize to th' worth 
The bounteous Maker's gifts. Believe it not: 
Not vanished is your former love; asleep 
A while it is, and with returning health 
'T will wake again refreshed. 
FRANCIS. 

No, no, 't is gone 

GIOVANNI. 
Oh, -say not so! See farther than the cloud 
That hoods your wonted temper's unflecked sky; 
When you shall lead again your jovial band. 
This darkling mood will pass, and your delight 
Of old in God's fair world will big revive. 

FRANCIS. 
Pray, call it not a passing mood that's now 
Upon me. That vain comfort I too spoke 

11 



To my distracted mind; but nov/ more clear 
I see. No, not my spirit dulled by pain, 
Nor yet my senses dimmed by long and close 
Confinement caused the change which you re- 
■mark. 

GIOVANNI. 
Why then what was the cause? 
FRANCIS. 

Ah! as I speak. 
E'en now, my vision seems revisited 
By those faint glimpses of celestial things 
Which ever and anon in painful hours, 
Oke fleeting rays, did 'steal into my soul. 

GIOVANNI. 
Your former self from slumber slow awaking. 

FRANCIS. 
Nay, dying rather to my former self, 
And risin'g to a higher life. In truth, 
I feel as I were born anew, and still 
Travailed my spirit in the throes: Heaven draws 
My strong reluctant will, and earth is loth 
To leave my worldly mind. 
GIOVANNI. 

A strife it is 
'Tween good and evil health. 
FRANCIS. 

'Tis more, 't is more. 
GIOVANNI. 
Your robust make the issue will decide. 
And then, the struggle over, the battle won, 
Your eye new-fired will keen again discern 
The fair, and smile on all that God's bright sun 
Doth smile upon. 

12 



FRANCIS. 

Oh never more my eye 
Shall look on things of earth as it was used! 
An inner light, Giovanni, now to me 
Discovers what before I never saw: 
This world we see, and think so great and fair, 
The thin and fragile shell it is, no more, 
Of a far greater, fairer world; this orb 
Of ours, so seeming large and firm, is yet 
In truth as frail and small as th' wondering orb 
That full takes in the universe; it waits 
But for the Almighty's touch to burst ablaze 
Into immortal life and robe itself 
In endless glory. All nature 's but a glass 
Which dim reflect-s the light of a divine 
Kingdom, that everlasting realm above. 
Whose sun the Sun of .Justice is, whose light 
The Brightness of Eternal Light. — O woe! 
That I so long this light have shunned, alas! 
Have been so utter blind as not to look 
Beyond the passing pageant, and to pierce 
The veil that hides fro'm view what lies behind. 
Fool that I was, my hungry soul so long 
To feed with such unsound, yea baneful food. 
The straw and husks of this world's fleeting 
goods! 

GIOVANNI. 
O Francis! leave these sad denressing thoU2;btP. 
If much you suffer them to hold the mind 
You will renew your illness, not regain 
Your former health. 

FRANCIS. 

In sorrow, not in gloom 

13 



I speak "t: I tear I have not known myself 
Till now. My youth is gone, a sad record 
Of wasted time. — To've spent life's golden days 
In empty pleasures, idle dreams! 
GIOVANNI. 

No cause 
Have you to pine: never from virtue's path 
You've strayed, no deed of shame your honor 

smirched. 
Nay, not a word that e'en to holy ears 
Might give offense has ever 'scaped your lip«. 
Your hand was always open to the poor. 
Your heart to the distressed, your hand and 

heart 
Belonged to all that called you friend or foe. 

FRANCIS. 
Your friendly eye more goodness in me sees 
Than V'm possessor of, and your kind love 
Keeps from discernment faults my own >3elf-love 
Has long kept undescried. At last less dark 
V/lthin my soul it grows, and I begin 
To see, another way I must pursue 
Than I have hither walked. I seem to hear 
A sweet voice whispering soft: 'Come, follow 

me.' 
Oh would that He who draws with mighty cords 
Made me as generous now in following Him, 
As T was given long to chase and serve 
This failing world! 

Enter Angelo. 
ANGELO. 

Oh there is Francis, good master Francis! 
Good morning, master Francis. 

14 



FRANCIS. 
God's blessing on you, boy. 
ANGELO. 

Francis! are you well again? I am so glad 
to see you. And how glad father will be, 
when I tell him that I saw you! But Francis, 
kind master Francis, are you really well? Tell 
me. 

FRANCIS. 
As well, my boy, as I can well expect. And 
how does my little friend Angelo? 
ANGELO. 

1 am always well. But oh, how much I 
missed you! Every day I waited and waited, 
but you would not come. 

FRANCIS. 
Your good old father, and your neighbors, 
how do they all? 

ANGELO. 
They are all so sad that you are sick. — This 
morning, before I left to fetch wild berries in 
these woods, my father said how hard it was 
that good master Francis stayed away so long. 
Bu now you'll come again to visit us, won't 
you, dear Francis? Tell 'me that you will'. 
FRANCIS. 
I will, my boy, I will. 

ANGELO. 
Oh, thank you. thank you! T will run at once 
to bring the joyful news to father. Goodbye, 
master Francis. [Exit. 

FRANCIS. 
A lovely flower. Giovanni, out of God's 

15 



Own garden, sent into this desert world 
To spread the perfume of a guileless life, 
And shame the greed of a luxurious race. 
Content in humble means, this winsome child 
Thanks God's kind Providence e'en for a cold 
And lowly hearth. 

GIOVANNI. 

A bright and charming lad 
This boy indeed. 

FRANCIS. 

A kingly lot is his, 
Nor his alone, but too the lot of all 
Who meekly, smilingly bear up the yoke 
Of pressing poverty. For all our ease 
And merriment, doth not a secret pain 
And weariness rankle our in-most heart? 
Not so with those who must forever strive 
With want: the heavy weight of life on them 
Doth lighter lie than us who never need. 
In sooth, the peace and rest which all our lives 
W<e mortals toil to find, more oft in hut 
Than palace dwells. — There must be something 

then 
In poverty that's hid away within 
A rugged shell, entreasured far too de<ep 
For this wise melancholy world to see. 
Yet sweetness has and power to spell and blese. 

GIOVANNI. 
Your words ring true; you reason well. But yet, 
T fear, you overleap the Master's word: 
'More blessed 't is to give than to receive.' 
Ara you not blessed to hajve given alms 
So oft and so profusely to Christ's poor? 

16 



FRANCIS. 
'More blessed 't is to give than to receive' — 
There is some comfort in the thought: 't is true, 
I've given to the poor, nay nevier heard 
A cry of need but I was inly touched, 
And moved to lavish richest gifts; but much, 
Alas! too much, I've also given to self. 
And little, oh how little! to my God. 
Have I not humored my fastidious tastes 
With every blandish'ment, apparelled rich 
In flowing robes, spending whole nights in wild 
And wanton revelries? In fine, Giovanni, 
I've loved the poor, but lo^ved not to be poor 
Myself. 

GIOVANNI. 
You are too strict a judge. Though free 
In mirth, and liberal to your friends, no less. 
Yea more, you've been munificent to God, 
Ministering so largely to Hi's poor. 
Is not this praise enough? Who does as much? 
Oh why not, Francis, be content to keep 
The godly path you have so nobly trod? 

FRANCIS. 
God calls to loftier heights: no longer may 
I tarry here in listlessness and play 
Away my life. 

GIOVANNI. 

Do you recall those words 
You spoke when in Perugia we did pine 
A dreary year's captivity, and sad 
We let our spirits droop, the while you laughed 
And kept up cheer? 'You look amazed at me,' 
You said, 'and wonder that so brave I bear 

17 



Our fortune; some day you will marvel more. 
When all the world will worship me.' Francis, 
Now verify your words, lead on the band 
Of your admiring friends, and win renown 
That never dies. Lead on! they'll follow you 
To any enterprise that's worth the na-me 
Of chivalry. 

FRANCIS. 

A dream of long ago 
You reawaken, one of many vi-sions 
That filled my youthful fantasy; of knights 
And talismans and famed chivalrlc deeds, 
All that the songs of troubadours and tales 
Of bards so fascinating celebrate. 
And in my childhood days my mother would 
So often sing and tell to me. But these 
Are fairy sights fit for romantic youth, 
Itself -30 fairy-like. 'Tis time I left 
The shadowy realm of romance to go forth 
And wrestle with life's grim realities. 
'Tis time to do, to live: dreams are but dreams, 
And songs but songs, and words and fancies air 
Without the deeds. Some great thing I must do 
For God; — and isoon I will. What it shall be 
I know not yet, but this I know: A knight 
Oif Heaven's King I'll be, a soldier of Christ, 
And champion of His Holy Cross. To Him 
I swear eternal fealty. 

GIOVANNI. 

Not words 
Of sick or petulant moodiness are these, 
I know it now, but God inspired thoughts. 
Too bold and worldly wise if I have spoken, 

18 



Your pardon, dearest Francis. Heaven forbid, 
I should make bold to step between j'^our soul 
And God! Only I pray: whate'er may chance. 
May you be spared to us, and most to me. 
Who love you as my very soul. 
FRANCIS. 

Place we, 
Giovanni, ourselves, our destiny entire 
In God's paternal care. His Providence 
Will guide all safe, and bring to happy end 
Whate'er His unsearched Wisdom has ordained. 
Come now, my father will be seeking me, 
And 'mother will grow anxious for her son. 
'I've said, now I begin; the Most High God 
Hath wrought this change.' [Exeunt. 



Id 



ACT II. 

SCENE 1. — Outffkirt.o of Asifisu Enter Giuseppe. 
Alberto. Amhrogio, Ediardo, Leone Sandali. 
Leone Belltno, Lvig'n last of all Bernard de 
Ventadoiir between Giovanni and Francis. 

GIOVANNI. 

Here then we've come to our city's utmost 
bounds. 
And here, alack! the sad word must be spoken: 
Our noble guest from fair Provence, esteemed 
Signor Bernard de Ventadour, mid grief 
We ROW bid you a kind farewell, and wish 
You god^speed on the way. 

BERNARD. 

Most hearty thanks, 
Mv gracious hosts. Rejoicing in the thought 
Of home, regret still steals into my heart 
That I must leave your sunny land, and lose 
The excellent friends who know to prize and 

love 
The singer's art. On all my tours, I vouch, 
^9uch ardent patrons I've not found as you 
Of high and -sacred minstrelsy. 
GIOVANNI. 

Accept, 
Sweet bard, as keepsake of your sojourn here 
Our parting tokens of regard and love: 
May God's protecting hand bring you unharmed 

20 



To lovely France. And may that Prince of th' 

court 
Of heaven, who tracks the pious traveller's 

ways. 
In future years again direct your thoughts 
And steps to azure Italy, with harp 
And song to cheer the feasts of your attached 
And deeply grateful friends. 

BERNARD. 
May Angel hands take up your eager hope, 
And carry aloft your fervent prayer e'en up 
To heaven's throne.^ — Ah, heaven! the home of 

song 
And harmony, where not the faltering tones 
Of mortal bards are heard, but constant strains 
Of Angel choirs, the immortal minstrel hosts 
Chanting for aye in rapturous hymns of praise 
The unveiled glory of their deathless King. 
Heaven! where mingle with the angelic lays 
The paean-s of triumphant Martyr bands, 
And psalms and canticles and jubilant songs 
Of Saints, accompanied still iby sweetest notes 
Of hundred thousand thousand harps of gold: 
Till all the wide celestial realm resounds 
With ever growing, never waning swells 
Of infinite music, whose echoes roll out 
Into the boundless ron.nd of space, and thence 
Reverberating gather all before 
The Almighty's crystal throne, and wondrous 

blend 
To one concordant voice of praise, and one 
Sublime harmonic of created sound 
And music of the Eternal Years. — 



O gentle friends, kind hearts, oh may we there. 
If not aga,in on earth, meet all to sing 
That endless song in endless joy! Ah me! 
The thought of that supernal home my heart 
Doth 'oaelt; my tears hegin to flow, and more 
I'm drawn to look upon its sweet, though faint 
And distant type, my stay and rest below. 
My earthly home. Then let me haste to part. 
So Heaj'.'en will, I'll come to you again. 
Adieu, my friends, adieu! 
ALL. 

Adieu, Adieu! 

[Exit Bernard. 

FRANCIS. 

Attend bright Angel throngs the parting bard. 

And lightsome music wing his wandering steps 

Whose strains have oft revived the failing 

strength, 
And smoothed the weary pilgri'm's rugged path. 
How glowed his melting words as flushed he 

told 
Harmoniously our Home's enchanting music! 
And how his face, like blushing setting sun. 
Shed kindred rays upon our mien, when far. 
Like seer, he looked beyond our earthly abode! 
O loving hearts! if 't set our souls on fire 
Merely to hear the singer tell of heaven, 
The entrancing, endless music there, what then 
Will 't be when we ourselves, changed, glori- 
fied, 
Shall be incorporate to that blessed choir 
Of ceaseless singing Saints and Angel hosts! 
Th.Tt prize, vny comrades, let us ever seek, 

22 



That treasure we must find. 
GIOVANNI. 

Yes, Francis, yes; 
With God above to illume our path, and you 
Our valiant leader here, we'll seek and find. 

GIUSEPPE 
Well said, Giovanni. Comrades all, the bard 
From France is gone, but look! have we not 

here 
Our own Assisi's tuneful bard? Is not 
Our Francis ours again? and always ours? 
His rich attire proclaims the blithesome youth 
Of former days, his smiling face reveals 
The joy of 's heart to be with us again. 
All hail to our captain! Long live Francis! 

ALL. 
All hail to our captain! Long live Francis! 

FRANCIS. 
Companions, this show of loyal love 
Affects my joyful heart with growing joy: 
A pleasure, sure, it is to see my friends 
Again, and know them constant as of old; 
But I have still a further cause of joy 
Which you yet know not of. 
GIUSEPPE. 

Then quickly tell 't. 
That with you we may all rejoice. 
ALBERTO. 

Yes, do: 
Imparted joy, you're 'ware, increases joy. 

LUIGI. 
Indeed, they say divided joy is twice 
A joy. 

23 



AMBROGIO. 
Give up the secret, Francis. 
FRANCIS. 

Then hear: 
I have the assurance now that I'll become 
A mighty prince. 

ALBERTO. 
Why, that you are e'en now. 
AMBROGIO. 
Who would deny 't? Pray, are you not our 
prince? 

EDUARDO. 
And prince of all Assisi's youth? 
GIUSEPPE. 

All hail 
To our noble prince! 

ALL. 
All hail to our noble prince! 
FRANCIS. 
Nay listen! In yesternight's repose I had 
A dream, a vision fair: I saw a palace 
Spacious, exalted placed on pompous heights. 
Encompassed round by nature's fullest wealth, 
A great, majestic hall, whose vast spread rooms 
And rich decked walls with flashing arms and 

shields 
Of glittering gold were all o'erhung. 
LUIGI. 

Ah! that's 
The temple of glory, Francis, where you'll shine 
Among the brightest stars of warrior fame. 

FRANCIS. 
On every shield there gleamed embossed a cross 

24 



Of brilliant hue, which blazoned seemed in sootli 
By master band of heraldry. 
LUIGI. 

The cross 
Of Christian knighthood, the brave and virtu- 
ous knight's 
Most gloried blazonry. 

FRANCIS. 

Now by your leave, — 
Amid this sumptuous splendor then appeared 
A still more charming beauteous sight, the 

pearl 
And crown, methought, of all the castle's treas- 
ures: 
A lady fair it was, transporting fair, 
Her graceful form swathed round in dazzling 

light; 
In bridal robes she was arrayed: her gown 
Of silk was sapphire deep: a spotless white 
Her veil and chaplet showed; of ruby ston'es 
Her necklace strung, her ring and bracelets 

wrought 
Of clearest gold. And so surpassing sweet 
A smile inwreathed her lovely face, that 

thoughts 
Of earthly loves fled all my snellbound mind, 
And from my mem'ry dimmed and paled away 
All forms of beantv pise and loveliness. 

GIUSEPPE. 
A most auspicious sight! foretokening plain 
Our prince's coming bliss. 
LUIGI. 

A dream of fair 

•25 



fmport indeed! The lady of your heart, 
Francis, j^ou saw, her whom in time you'll woo 
.\nd win and make your princess. 

GIUSEPPE. 
Hail to our noble prince and his fair princess? 

ALL. 
Hail to our noble prince and his fair princess! 

FRANCIS. 
As lost in wonderment I stood, and gazed 
Upon these marvels, I heard a voice from heaven: 
'Thin-e, Francis, are all these, they're destined all 
For thee and for thy knights.' 
GIUSEPPE. 

Bravo! bravo! 
LUIGI. 
O most propitious words! My comrades, say. 
Did you remark: 'for thee they're destined all. 
For thee and for thy knights'? Who are these 

knights 
But Francis' group? 

GIUSEPPE. 

Yes, Francis shall be king. 
His courtiers we. Our Arthur will he be. 
And we his paladins, his loyal knights. 
Knights of the Table Round. 
ALL. 

Bravo ! bravo ! 
GIUSEPPE. 
Long live our king! Long live his loyal knights! 

ALL. 
Long live our king! Long live his loyal knights! 

FRANCIS. 
Hold, friends! teraper your fervor awhile. I fear, 

26 



When 1 have done, youv zeal will cool, yoar 

hope 
Will sinli; I've told you but the vision yet, 
Not what did go before 't; still that it is 
Which seals the call as truly from above. 

LUIGI. 
And what is that? 

GIUSEPPE. 
Speak further, Francis. 

FRANCIS. 

Hear: 
'Twas yesterday that I, unwitnessed save 
By one, most firmly did resolve to leave 
My worldly course, and lead a godlier life; 
And, so 't please God, to accomplish some 

great deed 
For my Creator. This purpose was still warm 
Within my breast, when some good Angel sent 
The noble Lord Orlando's squire to me, who in- 
formed 
That on the following day his master meant 
To leave Assisi for a holy war. 
The news came like a flash upon my soul; 
'The finger of God!' stammered my beating 

heart, 
'The call to noble deeds!' Straightway I went 
To enlist, and Heaven the step did quick and 

plain 
Approve by giving me that night the vision 
To see on which I've just discoursed. — Com- 
panions, 
I've now delivered all; you know God's will, 

27 



Vou know too my resolve: I leave to-night. 

ALL. 
To-night! 

FRANCIS. 
It is decreed: to-night. 
GIUSEPPE. 

Impossible! 
LEONE SANDALI. 
To war again? 

AMBROGIO. 
A dream! 
ALBERTO. 



It cannot be ! 



GIUSEPPE. 



It shall not be! 



FRANCIS. 
Heaven calls; I cannot choois^. 

GIOVANNI. 
'T is time that I did speak. My comrades, know 
So long I've held my peace, because to me 
'Twats no surprise what so astonished you. 
I was the witness of that wondrous change; 
And I protest, not blind impulse it was 
Led Francis on, but Heaven's kindly light; 
His conscience, not a whim or shifty mood 
Inspired his high resolve: contend not then 
With God's designs. Rather, dear comrades, 

cast 
Wo a look beyond the present grief, and see 
The future looming up with prosperous head: 
Our leader knighted, glory-dight, returned. 
To lead us up the heights which he himself 

28 



Has reached. 

GIUSEPPE. 

For all you say, I like it aot. 
AMBROGIO. 
Nor I. 

ALBERTO. 
Nor I. 

LUIGI. 
Who could? Yet must we fear 
To hinder Heaven's appointed course. 
LEONE SANDALI. 

Well urged ; 
'Tis not for us to rule or reason here, 
Our part it is humbly to take what God 
Decrees. 

GIUSEPPE. 

I'll say no more. — 

GIOVANNI. 

Companions, 
Raise we our spirits; and, ere our Francis 

parts, 
Let's join to show him to the last our true 
Undying devotion: We'll all escort him home. 
And grace tonight his leave with kindest wishes. 
Not long the night that clasps the drowsy day 
Doth hold the eager morn in its embrace; 
And through each night's dark pall bright peers 
At length the sleepless eye of th' rising sun. 
Come, friends. — {Exeunt. 



29 



SCEl^JE 2. — Assist. Before Bernardone's hou»e. 
Enter Bernardonc and n servant, 
BBRNARDONE. 

You're sure in last night's din and hast<e niy 
fcson 
Did nothing leave behind which he might lack? 

SERVANT. 
I've searched all his apartments, as you bade, 
And have found nothing. 

BERNARDONE. 

'T was well done. 
SERVANT. 

You may. 
Good master be at ease. Your son set forth 
Not well provided only, but equippied 
Most splendidly. 

BERNARDONE. 
I am assured. 

Why, like 
A practiced horseman on his mettled steed 
He sat, a very knight your excellent son 
Did seem. From Francis' resolute mien, I 

thought. 
The smile of thousand ancient victories shone. 

BERNARDONE. 
'Tis well; go now, and do what waits your service. 

[Exit servant. 
Now, when he's gone, I feel regret that not 
More strongly I opposed.— Strange, strange, how 

quick 
I was prevailed upon to give my loth 
Consent. Well, wails are no avails, therefore 

30 



I will forbear to think what might have been, 
And thinlv alone on what will be, the health 
Of Francis full restored, and that dark cloud 
Removed of strained religious zeal, which late 
Obscured his temper's cheerful sun. 
Enter Giovanni. 
GIOVANNI. 
Good morrow, Bernardone! 

BBRNARDONE. 

Good morrow, Giovanni I 
About so early? 

GIOVANNI. 

Ah, refreshing sleep 
And vexing thoughts are deadly foes. The 
; thought 

Of Francis haunted me all night, and kept 
Far off repofseful slumber; the morning hour 
Came sluggish on and found me still awake; 
So I arose betimes, and mean today 
To leave all serious work and ease my mind 
With light converse and listless sauntering. 

BERNARDONE. 
A prudent course. — ^To my rest, too, this thing 
Disquiet brought. And now. as I review 
The past night's scene, my pride is stung to 

think 
That T wa^s overruled. A blank refusal 
My answer should have been. Still, now 't is 

done. — 
The first warm blaze will soon haive spent it- 
self. 
And Francis will return a cooler youth. 



31 



A wiser ixian. 

GIOVANNI. 

I am not with you there; 
Your son's is not a fickle nature blown 
About by freaks and whimseys. 

BERNARDONE. 

Why. Giovanni, 
What was it but a freakish impulse drove 
Him hence? 

GIOVANNI. 
Nay, judge not rash; why may't not be 
A higher impulse led hrm on, the motion 
Of grace, the Spirit of God? 

BERNARDONE. 

Youth's giddiness 
It was, so oft mistaking its own blind 
Enthusiasm for God's inspiration. — 
At all events I say: let him not foil 
My plans with him. 'hove all let him not bring 
Disgrace upon my house. 

GIOVANNI. 

That I will vouch 
For him; he 's far too good to act ignobly. 
Too well his duty Francis knows to fail 
In aught he owes his family's unstained honor. 

BERNARDONE. 
His grieved mother's tender heart will claim 
Many a sigh and tear, ere he comes back. 

GIOVANNI. 
The meek and gentle Pica, virtuous lady, 
Full worthy mother of so good a son, 
Knows too to reconcile her will to Heaven. 

32 



BERNARDONE. 
You're more devout than wise, Giovanni. — 
Come, rest awhile within. [Exeunt. 

SCE^E 3. — Spoleto. A room in an inn. 
Enter Orlando and a physician, 
ORLANDO. 

Sad, doctor, sad; the fever none abated? 
PHYSICIAN. 
Not so as to warrant his leaving here today. 

ORLANDO. 
Unfortunate! only ten short leagues advanced, 
And this mishap befalls. Howbeit, I may 
Not tarry. I pray you, doctor, tend him well; 
Here's that will pay for all. [Giving money. 

And when his strength 
Is far enough regained to leave this place. 
Tell him he's free to follow me. or go 
To Assisi back till better health attend 
His eager and courageous soul. — Farewell. 

PHYSICIAN. 
Farewell, my noble lord. [Exeunt severally. 

Enter Francis. 
FRANCIS. 
Who says that man is master of his fate? — 
But yesterday it was I fancied fond 
Myself, my firm unbending will to enter 
Upon a life of Christian knighthood, shaped 
In germ, and fixed forever a whole career 
Of glorious deeds. But ah! how soon, how 

soon 
I'm undeceiv>ed! how soon, how soon my light 

33 



And airj^ castle, toppled, crumbled, vani'shedT 
Today I've manifest, yea palpable proof, 
Not man, but God it is that forms and moulds 
And wields man's aims and ends. — 
My hopes, but late so fresh with glistening dew 
Of youthful life, within a few hours' space 
Are withered waste; my plans, yet warm with 

heat 
Of first conception, are crossed and quenched 

before 
They've well begun to live. God's ways, in 

truth. 
Are not our ways; and do we what we will, 
'Tis He that marks our paths and guides our 

steps. — 
O dread dismayin.9: change! Behold me now: 
Struck down with fever here; by strange hands 

served ; 
Uncertain what good Heaven intends with me. 
Rut certain soon to meet the staring looks. 
The silent •scorn, perhaps the loud reproach 
Of those I left with tearless eye, and will 
(As they did call 't) of iron stubbornness. 
Rut God above doth know, not sinful pride 
It was in me, or peevish wilfulness, 
That I did leave what was so dear to me. 
My worldly sense did worldy judge: that vi^sion 
Of castle, trophies, arms and shining shields, 
T know it now, I wholly misconstrued. 
The heavenly voice last night, the same I know. 
That spoke before, how loving it did chide! 
'Why, Francis, dost abandon God, the Rich 
And Master, for the poor and servant, man? 

34 



'What is it, Lord, thou 'It have me do?' I cried, 
'Return,' the answer came, 'to AsFisi, there 
It shall b'e told thee, child! too human you 
Interpret things divine: not man, but I 
Your dream will in my own good time 

accomplish.' — 
Thus am I plainly bid retrace my steps. 
But dark, uncertain left what will now be 
My changed career. Yet I'll not flag, but sue 
For light and strength, and meanwhile blind 

obey. 
No, not to war in far Apulia I'll go. 
But home, to my own native city, taunts 
And sneers though I must look to encounter. 
What is the gain, my soul, of earthly fame? 
Nay, what's the loss of name, however great. 
So thou but win the sovereign boon: to obey 
The call of Him whose eye unerring sees 
The intrinsic worth of man, no jot too large 
Nor yet too small, in spite of fame and name 
Bestowed by fallible lips or taken again 
By slanderous mouths? — 

O God, O God, that I flid know my course! 
Yet patience, patience, fretful, chafing heart! 
Better than peace is struggling righteousness; 
With God in blackest gloom to walk is light 
Enough. Yes. light of God. be thou a lamp 
To my weak stumbling feet. Oh never, never. 
Thou Shaper of my being and life, let me 
Thy holy will forestall again, or thwart 
In aught Thy wisdom, v,rhich from end to end 
Doth mighty reach, and all things sweet ordain ! 



35 



'My heart is ready, O God! my heart is ready. 
Show me, O Lord! Thy ways, teach me Thy paths; 
Direct me in Thy truth, instruct me, Lord! 
My Saviour art Thou and my God. [jExit. 



36 



ACT. III. 

SCENE 1 — Asaiai. A street. 

Enter Giuseppe, Alberto, Eduardo, Leone 
Sandah, Leone Bellino. and Luigi. 

GIUSEPPE. 
T do assure you more I feel than show. 

But tell me, friends, how you do bear the 
loss. 

LEONE SANDALI. 
Ah. Giuseppe! 't is the third day now 
He's gone from us, and the bereavement smarts 
As 't were but one hour old. 
EDUARDO. 

I've hardly slept 
Since that unlucky night. 

ALBERTO. 

Try how I will 
To bend and fix my mind on other things, 
Mv thoughts will stubborn still revert to him. 

LUIGI. 
It is but natural, though wise 't is not. 
To give the mem'ry scope, and linger much 
On what's past remedy. 

ALBERTO. 

Cold comfort this, 
Be it ever so wise. 

Enter Amhroqio. 
AMBROGIO. 
Good morrow, comrades. News! 

37 



GIUSEPPE. 
What news, Ambrogio? 

LEONE SANDALI. 

Something, I hope, 
Concerning Francis. 

AMBROGIO. 

A report is come 
To Bernardone's ear, that ere ten leagues 
From here advanced, his son fell grievous ill, 
And at Spoleto lies detained. 
GIUSEPPE. 

Detained? 
Jubt what I feared. Blind, senseless baste I 

ALBERTO. 
But the report is true, Ambrogio, is 't? 

AMBROGIO. 
I have it from Giovanni, who's as like 
In this as anyone to know the truth. 

LEONE BELLINO. 
Relapse, I fear, our Francis has sustained. 

LEONE SANDALI. 
No wonder *t is; he was not whole restored 
<Vhen he did leave. 

GIUSEPPE. 
If this be found confirmed. 
The father will recall the son; and we 
From a mischance will draw a greater good. 

AMBROGIO. 
My very thought, Giuseppe; Heaven smiles 
E'en while it frowns; the cloudlet soon will pass. 
And we will be the happier for the eclipse. 
Away therefore with cares and gloomy thoughts! 
I^t me see, comrades, is 't not near the time 

38 



To hold our regular feast? 

GIUSEPPE. 

'Tis very near. 
AMBROGIO. 
Why, then let's straight arrange. 
GIUSEPPE. 

What say you all? 
ALL. 



Agreed. 



At my house. 



GIUSEPPE. 

Where shall it be? 

AMBROGIO. 

I'll take the honor; 

GIUSEPPE. 

And the time? 

AMBROGIO. 



Tomorrow night. 



Agreed? 



GIUSEPPE. 



ALL. 



Agreed. 



AMBROGIO. 

Good; I'll expect you all. 
Till then I'll leave you. I have a charge to fill 
Which cries dispatch: that done, my time will 

serve 
The needful preparations for the feast. [Exit. 

GIUSEPPE. 
T burn to know if this report be true. 
And if it be, what Pietro means to do 
In this emergency. Come, friends, with me; 
'T will humor Bernardone much to see, 

39 



We're thoughtful of his son in time of need 
No less than days of health. [Exeunt. 

SCEI^E 3. — Assist. Another street. 

Enter Leone Bellino and Angela meeting. 
ANGBLO. 
/^ ood evening, master Leone; have you heard 
^^ The news? Oh, happy, happy news! 
LEONE. 

No, boy, 
Not if they're so happy. 

ANGELO. 

They are, Leone, 
And true. Just listen: as I was coming back 
From rambling in the woods I met a man, 
A good and honest man, who would not lie, 
I'm sure he would not, he's my father's friend. 
He said good master Francis is returned; 
Right by his house, he said, did Francis pass. 

LEONE. 
Thank God! my torturing dread was but vain 
fear. 

ANGELO. 
Now, is not this good news and true? 
LEONE. 

Indeed, 
My boy. indeed. And will you, Angelo, 
If you do meet my friends, tell them these 
news? 

ANGELO. 
I will. — Oh, Francis back! I long to see 
Kind master Francis; I will tell him never 

40 



Again to go away to horrid war. 

Where men do fight and lose their lives; with 

us, 
Who love him, always shall our Francis stay. — 
Good bye, master Leone. 

LEONE. 

Good bye. [Exit Angela. 
How fortunate the illness is not grave! 
Already he returns; and opportune 
He comes in mirth to drown discomfiture. 
Ambrogio I must quick of this inform, 
And he'll give over the lead of our great feast 
To Francis. Giovanni we will send 
To urge our plea; his prayers will prevail. — 
Oh, good is God! who 'visits uts with trials 
To igive us after greater joy. [Exit. 

SCENE 3. — Afsisi. Francis' home. 
Enter Francis, 

FRANCIS. 
A t home again! And now who knows but God 
■^-^What lies before me? Who can say what time 
'T will please good Heaven to remove the veil? 
Oh! not the gibes of sharp-tongued men I fear, 
Or jests of snickering friends; these are but 

trifles. 
To encounter human scorn I'm full prepared. 
Yea, all the world I feel as I could meet 
And bold defy; but oh the uncertainty 
Of what's to come! this, this my spirit glooms. 
Yet hold! did I not docile patience vow? 
Did I not solemn pledge, e'en though my way 
Through groping darkness lie, to follow Him 



Whose palm records my very name, 'my Liglit, 

My Safety, and Protector of my life'? — 

Supporter of the weak, oh bear me up! 

Director of the erring, lead me on! 

O Thou that dwellest in unapproachable light. 

Yet deignst with simple souls to hold commune. 

And understanding givest to little ones. 

Bend loving down to Thy poor faltering wight! 

O sovereign Parent of my breath and life, 

Make me a child in guileless simpleness, 

A babe in humble lowliness! 'My heart, 

O God! to Thy attested words incline; 

My supplication come before Thy face, 

Give knowledge. Lord! according to Thy word.' 

[Kneels. 
Enter Giovanni. 
GIOVANNI. 
Oh welcome, dearest Francis! welcome home! 

FRANCIS. [Rising. 
Giovanni! Blessings on thee, friend! 
GIOVANNI. 

How slow. 
My Francis, oh how tedious slow these days 
Did drag along! A void in this sad breast 
Your absence made which nothing, so I felt. 
In all this world could ever fill, and lo! 
You come yourself to fill the void. O joy! 
To enfold thee again with brother love. 
FRANCIS. 

I know 
The laving and devoted heart that beats 
In my Giovanni's breast; but tell me now, 
Are you not much surprised to find me here? 

42 



GIOVANNI. 

Not »30 surprised, good Francis, as o'erjoyed; 

The rumor did at first astonisii me, 

And disinclined I was to credit it. 

But when my comrades the report confirmed, 

And urged me from them all to greet you well, 

With hurried steps, which love and gladness 

winged 
More than surprise, I hither sped to bring 
Our dues of love and friendship. 
FRANCIS. 

My best thanka 
GIOVANNI. 
Pardon me, Francis, indifferent if I seem 
To your rev^erse: pity gives way to joy. 

FRANCIS. 
Be calm, Giovanni; and know I'm not so sad 
As you would intimate. Deep in my heart. 
In spite of balks and blows without, there bides 
A soothing solace: Heaven's will is done. 
You know to God's service I have myself 
Surrendered whole, how then should I com- 
plain? 
He called me back, he too will trace my course. 
If not as soldier, squire or gallant knight, 
As servant of his favored children then, 
The lepers and the poor, I'll serve my King. 

GIOVANNI. 
Full clear, I know, be^'ore the all-seeing Eye 
'^''ou stand; and this your townsmen recognize. 
Though your return is in the mouth of all, 
No word is heard that breathes the faintst 
reproach. 

43 



FRANCIS. 

rVo learned the praise and blame of men to 

deem 
As smoke. Can feeble words of human tongue 
Conduce one tittle to my inner worth, 
Or lessen one hair's breadth my real desert? 
Sure, man is what he is in Heaven's sight. 

GIOVANNI. 
That none of your comrades aught finds in you 
To chide, here have you proof: in their behalf 
I'm come to offer you the leadership 
In their great feast tomorrow at Ambrogio's. 

FRANCIS. 
It must not be. Have you forgotten, friend, 
The break between the world and my changed 

mind? 
I've lost all ta«te for pomp and vain display. 
No relish have I left for feasts and games; 
I pray you ply not your petition. 
GIOVANNI. 

And yet 
I must. Do bear with me, if harsh I seem 
To press my entreaty so. Reflect, dear friend, 
No wrong it is to share in harmless mirth. 
Nay, virtue 't is to joy with the rejoicing. 
Do not your comrades with full cause rejoice? 
And will your kind heart now deny them that 
Which it can blameless, nay, religious give? 
Oh say you'll co'me! — for my sake, if not 

theirs; — 
This one time yet, — just once, — will you? — do 

say, 
Good Francis, you accept. 

44 



FRANCIS. 

You have prevailed, 
Giovanni; I accept: not to appear 
Uncivil or unkind to your companions, 
And for your -sake I'll come. 

GIOVANNI. 

'Tis nobly spoken; 
An echo from my Francis' magnanimous spirit. 
Directly I must break this joyous news 
To our expecting friends. — We'll meet again 
Tomorrow at Ambrogio's; till then be you 
In Heaven's loving care. Good night. 

FRANCIS. 

Good night. 
[Exit Giovanni. 
Pardon. O Lord! this worm who dares to think 
Thy spirit placed the yielding words upon 
His lips. A clear presentiment lingers still 
Within my mind, tomorrow's feast the end 
Of all such empty amusements marks for me. 
I feel I've made my last, my very last 
Concession to this pleasure-seeking world. — 
Myself the expenses of the feast will bear, 
And labor former banquets all to outdo 
In splendid dress and costly meats and wines. 
And then — farewell, elaborate vanities! 
Farewell, ye solemn trifles, golden toils, 
All treacherous gloss of glory, fame, renown! 
'Conduct me. Lord, upon Thy ways; I'll walk. 
My Saviour, in Thy truth. Oh! let my heart 
Rejoice that it may fear Thy name.' [Exit. 



45 



SCENE 4. — Aashi. A street at night. Night- 
watchman walking to and fro. 

NIGHTWATCHMAN. 

An odd life this, nightly walking the streets, 
waking v/hile others sleep, watching while 
others rest. And that these five and forty 
years. But I complain not; the work fits to 
the man: he's odd too. — 

Some people think I'm as crazy as the moon, 
in whose light I have grown old; but these 
lunatics forget that with all their sunlight 
they're no whit wiser than I am. Many 
a man I saw in my days who, though 
he kept no company with Signora Luna, and 
composed no verses, went nevertheless to the 
madhouse, whilst the old reliable nightwatchman 
of Assisi, who has so often gazed upon Selene's 
silvery face, and sighed sonettos to her beaute- 
ous form, still faithful stands at his post, with 
clear head, ready arm, and — [Shoues heard. 
Past the midnight hour, and that noisy crew 
still carousing: Bernardone's son and his gay 
company at Renieri's. — There's wisdom bred in 
the sun! — 'Twill shine full blaze anon; for this 
way soon 't will come. — Ha! an excellent rhyme: 
there's wisdom bred in the sun; 't will shine 
full blaze anon; for this way soon 't will come. 

[Sings: — There's wisdom bred in the sun, 
'T will shine full blaze anon, 
For this way soon 't will come. 
[Singing' heard.] I hear them singing. — 

This way the air wafts their bacchanalians. — 

46 



1 see them now, coming down this street. — 
Well, let foolery have its course, so I don't wit- 
ness it. — I'll move, lest I imbibe some of that 
sunny wisdom which would make me play the 
iool. [Exit. 

Enter in procession Giuseppe, Eduardo, Leone 
Bellino, Leone Sandali, Liiigi, Alberto, Ambro- 
gio, Giovanni; last of all, as king of the feast, 
Francis, who is suddenly arrested by a heavenly 
tight upon which he gazes intently. 
AMBROG-IO. 
Halt! 

ALBERTO. 
Halt, comrades! 
GIOVANNI. 

Halt! Francis is not well. 
GIUSEPPE. 
Why, what has happened? 

LEONE SANDALI and LUIGI. 
What's amiss? 
AMBROGIO. 

Speak Francis! 
GIOVANNI. 
O Francis! speak. 

LEONE BELLINO. 

No fresh relapse, I hope. 
EDUARDO. 
He seems all rapt. 

LUIGI. 

Transported Francis is. 
GIUSEPPE. 
Transported? where? with what? 

47 



AMBROGIO. 

I know: with love; 
He's found the lady of his dream. 
GIOVANNI. 

Oh speak! 
Good Francis, speak, explain. 
AMBROGIO. 

He's deep in love. — 
FRANCIIS. 
Giovanni, comrades, I saw my love, 
My love whom not the blinking pick of man. 
But God's infallible choice to me's decreed. 

ALBERTO. 
Fast courtship; and upon whom fell the choice? 

FRANCIS. 
A lady, none such have you e'er admired. 
So rich, so noble and so fair, the pride. 
The crown, the paragon of womankind. 

GIUSEPPE. 
An enviable prospect, which may time approve. 

FRANCIS. 
The engagement's closed, the nuptials soon will 

seal 
The life-long bond that Heavien has tied. 
AMBROGIO. 

'Tis not 
To-night, I hope. 

FRANCIS. 

Oh speed that day of days 
The Father of lights!— Companions, you stand 

aghast. 
And stare as I a seething lover were 
Who lost his reason; but assure yourselves 

48 



My mind is clear, I speak the sober truth; 
You marvel now, you'll marvel more in time. 
Pray, for this night, sweet friends, depart; the 

hour 
Is late, and sleep does call 's to rest. — Good 
night. 

Exeunt all but Francis and Giovanni. 
GIOVANNI. 
How is 't with you, Francis? 
FRANCIS. 

Be undisturbed, 
My dear Giovanni, you will soon know all. 
I beg you, swe'etest friend, do you too part, 
And leave me to my thoughts. 
GIOVANNI. 

Good night, iPrancie. 
[Exit. 
FRANCIS. 
How changed I feel! — I feel as I had bathed 
In light, which new informed my frame, and 

deep 
Invaded to my heart's darkest recess. 
Methought a flash did straight from heaven 

d-escend. 
Endued me round, pierced me v;ith cleaving 

beam. 
And burned with purging ^ire away the dross 
As if some mijjhty invisible Power did lift 
Of my alloyed soul. And then it was 
Me out of my own fleshly self, and raised 
The facile buoyant spirit far aloft 
To a higher sphere, where it was given to see 
Such lofty ecstatic sights, such secret things 

49 



Divine, as blind and baffle mortal sense 

And human tongue defy. — 

Immersed in this beatific stream, I felt 

Uprising in my now disburdened soul 

A deep dislike for all that men call great, 

That all the world did seem to me a vile 

x\nd loathsome thing, a crawling, sickening 

thing, 
Not worth the worthless dust on which it lived. 
That sight alone my being engrossed; naught 

else, 
1 deemed, could ever again I see or hear, 
Or love; on nothing fix my ravished mind. 
Enough of bliss it seemed to feed for aye 
On that one glimpse of paradise. — 

Thou, who in mercy hast shed upon my soul 
The light of Thy benignant face, I know, 

1 know the purport of Thy illumining ray: 
Thou'st knighted me, great King of heaven, to 

fight 
Not 'gainst battalions hostile, and not with arms 
Of steel, but with Thy Spirit's two-edged sword, 
Against my soul's dread foes, the siren world, 
My mutinous flesh, and Satan's wily snares. 

Lord God! strong and mighty in battle, 

equip 
'"hy weakling soldier with the armor of truth; 
Put on his head the helmet of salvation. 
That in this war he may the victory win. 
To Thee alone, my God! my Leader! here 

1 swear eternal faith. 'My heart hath said: 
My face hath sought Thee, Lord! Thy counten- 
ance 

SO 



I still will seek. Turn not away Thy face. 
Decline not from Thy servant in Thy wrath.' 
O Beauty Thou of ancient days, yet new 
Forever, too late I've known Thee! oh, too late. 
Too late, I've loved Thee! [Exit, 



M 



ACT IV. 

SCENE l.—AsBisi. A street. 

Enter Eduardo, Leone Sandalt and Luigi. 

LEONE, 
T 11 ending of a fair beginning 't was. 
•*• Full hundred times my fancy since rehearsed 
In somber-dreamy pictures that night's scene. 
With h'eavy, burning eyes at an early hour 
Each morn I awake, my mind exhausted, dull. 
As I with intricate algebraic sums 
Had tortured all night long my weary brain. 

EDUARDO, 
What think you, Luigi? was 't Heaven marred 
Our feast's finale, or Francis' turning mind? 

LUIGI. 
No easy thing to say; but slow I'd be 
To think that Francis' mind 's affected. True, 
He ever was an enthusiastic youth. 
His heart athrob with warm and generous 

blood. 
But vigorous too, and calm in mind, as sober 
With all his youthful fire as made of him 
Assisi's boasted nonpareil. 
LEONE. 

Quite so; 
I judge the thing as from above. To me 
'T has always seemed there was a something 

deeper 
In Francis' soul, which needed but God's call 
To ibring it out. 

52 



EDUARDO. 

I know not what to think; 
Unlike 't is not that Francis is a bit 
Religicn-mad; his late behavior seemed 
To point that way. 

LUIGI. 

Giuseppe's very word; 
Yet not a trifle 't is to clear discern 
Where wisdom goes and folly comes. 
LEONE. 

Come, friends, 
Let us to Giovanni's, and hear his mind. 

EDUARDO. 
Yes, he knows more than we. He's doubtless 

seen 
And heard his strangely stricken friend. Co^aie. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE 2. — Assist. Before Bernardone's house. 
Enter Bernardone and Giovanni. 
BERNARDONE. 
TT 7hy, no, not these three days he's been at 

"^ home; 
My anger drove him hence; but 'twas too much. 

GIOVANNI. 
What was it that so much provoked you? 

BARNARDONE. 
A thousand things, Giovanni; ever since 
That cursed night he has not been himself. 

GIOVANNI. 
What does he amiss? 

BERNARDONE. 

Not half his one time zest 

53 



He shows at work: he plies his hands indeed, 
But lets his thoughts rove on far other things. 
And then he prays so much, and runs so oft 
To lazarets, to churches and to shrines. 
He's growing mad, I fear. 

GIOVANNI. 

You see too dark. 
Distinctive of his large and fervid soul 
I find the conduct of your son; he does, 
Whatever he does, intently ; heart and soul 
He lives for a proposed end; with zeal 
Aflame, he heeds no obrstacles, but strives 
Steadfastly, undaunted pushing onward still. 
Till he doth reach ideal altitudes. 

BERNARDONE. 
Bah! how you prattle! Ideal altitudes! 
Confound ideals! What good ere comes of 

dreams? 
What is to me his hot pursuit of goods 
That never will be real? What profit brings 
His frenzied chase of visionary goals? 
(rive me results, results alone are test. 

GIOVANNI. 
You look at things with partial eye, Pietro, 
The mercenary eye of Mammon zealots. 
Other and broader points there are of vision, 
Which, rayless to your practical view and bent, 
Oipen wide tracks of light to a keener gaze 
And larger sight. Remember, saintly souls 
nescry and seek to climb far loftier heights. 
Than this base world vaunting displays as 

worthy 
Alone of man's regard and upward toil: 

5\ 



r.reat name, high rank and afllueut wealth. 

BEliiNAiiDONE. 
Wisdom for book worms and arm chair savants; 
Those lofty heights are up in the clouds, the 

abode 
Of poets, dreamers, drones, not practical men. 

GIOVANNI. 
Yet know, superior claims religion has, 
Which are not measured by the rule of gain; 
A godly life, my practical friend, 's not gauged 
By standard of this world. 

HEKNARDONE. 

Religion? 
A godly life? You mean not. sure, to call 
My son's misconduct these revered names, 
lleligion? Fie! religion-nuid he is. 
And not religious. To grieve whom we should 

comfort, 
And anger those we are bound to love, are 

these 
The fn:its that grow on th' heights? 
GIOVANNI. 

Most certain not. 
Nor does your son think that religion's part. 
He deeply mourns the unwilling grief he inflicts 
On you; as sharp, T know, your sorrow affects 
Your child as 't dooa your own paternal heart. 

RERNARDONK. 
Were 't so. he would remov'c the cause of gri<^f: 
lie need but will to obey, and sorrow is 

vanished. 
But he is obstinate and intractable grown. 

55 



GIOVANNI. 
I stake my honor, as security 
My very life I'd give, that Francis' will 
Is not perverse in disobeying you; 
Convinced he is that he is called by God, 
Whom more than men 't is meet to obey. — 
Be patient, Bernardone. — 

BERNARDONB. 

Easily said; 
But when his 'misdemeanors heap disgrace 
Upon our heads, what patience have we left? — 
Giovanni, would you for your life believe 't? 
In tatters, sordid rags, a short time back 
Our Francis home returned from what h'e called 
A pilgrimage to Rome. He mingled there. 
He said, with beggars, begged and ate with 

them 
Their scanty meal, and, in compassion, 
With one, the neediest wretch, exchanged 

attire, — 
The fool! 

Enter Angela. 
ANGELO. 
Good morning, Signor Bernardone. 
Good morning, Giovanni. — Is Francis in? 

GIOVANNI. 
No, boy. 

ANGELO. 
Will he be in when I come back? 
BERNARDONE. 
No! go your way, you only come to beg. 



56 



GIOVANNI, 
Go, Angelo, some other time you'll see your 
friend. 

ANGELO. 
I will; excuse me if I broke 
Into your talk. — Good bye. [Exit. 

BERNARDONB. 
Hear further, Giovanni, and then say 
If my impatience is not justified. 
'T its five days now, without my leave he takes 
A deal of my most costly stuffs, rides then 
To Foligno, sells goods and horse, and turns 
The price entire to San Damiano's priest. 
'Tis there that Francis spent much time of late. 
And would hav© stayed, had I not come en- 
raged 
To drag him thence and close at home confine. 
His mother found this lenient punishment 
Severe; and, too indulgent, let escape 
The prisoner in my absence; ever since 
He's not been seen, but likely hides for fear 
In some sequestered thicket-nook or cave. 
I'll wait another day; if then no son 
Appear, I'll have Mm hunted down and cast 
Into the city prison, where he'll lie 
Till from his madness he recuperate. 

GIOVANNI. 
Forbear, forbear, Pietro; do not you 
Forget the father's touch, e'en though the child 
Should filial duty disregard. Not spite, 
I'm certain, apprehension of your rage 



S7 



Made Francis fly. He'll soon take Iieart and 

come 
Before Ills father to explain. Meantime, 
I beg you, be appeased. I'll search the woods 
iMyself, and find his hiding-place; I know 
All his retreats and favorite haunts. And then, 
I'm confident, he'll listen to the plea 
Which in his father's name and mine I'll make. 

BERNARDONE. 
Do so; and tell him, too, my fixed design 
If stubborn he refuse to be persuaded. 

GIOVANNI. 
This way 't is like he took. — If not today. 
To morrow, Bernardone, here your son 
And your son's friend together will appear. 

BERNARDONE. 
Be 't so. — Come, part of th' way I'll go with 

you. [Exeunt, 



SCENE 3. — A wood near Assist. A grotto in the 
distance. Enter Francis. 

FRANCIS. 

OGod of light eternal! who am I, 
That Thou shouldst visit me, and shed upon 
The vilest dust the lustre of Thy face, 
And send into my inmost soul a beam 
Of Thy effulgent, life-imparting Sun? 
With infinite praise I'd fain proclaim Thy name. 
Thy boundless mercies endless sing. 
Oh sweetness 'bove all sweetness to converse 



58 



Witli Thee! From Tliy pure stream these latter 

days 
What torrents of delight did flow upon 
My thirsting soul! — Not till that night Thy flash 
Did strike my worldly heart, had I, my God! 
Remotest thought Thou wert so near to me. 
Immeasurable space, I thought, impassable gulf, 
Divided creature and Creator wide; 
And yet one step, I see, the distance spans: 
One step, and lo! beyond all barriers far 
Of time and place the unencumbered spirit 
Lightly soars to a clement clime serene 
And winged move through fresh perennial 

fields. 
O Prayer! thou heaven-born claim, thou God- 
given right. 
Primordial privilege of created mind; 
O Prayer! whose priceless, worth and mighty 

power 
Ungrateful, ignorant man so underrates, 
Thy fragrance 't is that wafts us to the heaven 
Of heavens, thy gentle force transports us swift 
Into God's awful sight, and presses us 
To our Father's loving heart. — 
The first faint streaklets of approaching dawn 
Ha.\"e now expanded into blazing day: 
Those tender rays that on my swart horizon 
Appeared when illness held my mortal frame 
In sullen stubborn grasp, have widened now, 
And clearer, Vvrarmer, fuller fall their light 
Upon my groping laboring soul. And ah! 
How much mere, bright is now the sun of day 

59 



Thau darksome was the gloom of night! Thank 

God, 
That night is past, that time of racking doubt. 
Of wavering hopes, and agonizing fears. 
The day ha-s come, the season of certain light. 
To illume my path and point my journey's goal. 
Come now what clouds and storms there will, 

my course 
Divinely traced distinct, unchanged remains. 
The single aim of all my days: to live 
With Him who had not where to lay His head, 
A life of abject poverty. — 

Come then, spare want, be thou my spacious fill. 
Be thou my fruitful riches, poverty. 
Oh come, sweet mistress, heaven-appointed 

spouse! 
Let me clasp thee whom all men rshun. Be thou 
My life-long love. My Lady Poverty. — 
But soft! a noise. — Am I discovered? — 
'Tis Angelo; I see his angel face 
Shine through the leafy hanging boughs.— This 

way 
He comes. — 

Enter Angelo. 
ANGELO. 
O Francis! dear, good master Francis! 
Do I find you here? 

FRANCIS. 

That rather I should ask, 
My Angelo; how ca'me you to this place? 

ANGELO. 
My Guardian Angel must have led me here. 

60 



FRANCIS. 
You're not afraid, my little lad, to stray 
So far into this dense, uuvisited woods? 

ANGBLO. 
No, Francis, I am not afraid; I just 
Walked on and on, and thought how much I 

longed 
To see you; and I wondered when again 
You would come home, and take me in your 

house. 
And show me many things, and give me much 
For father and myself. 

FRANCIS. 

I fear, my boy, 
Those days are past. 

ANGELO. 

Oh why? you will not live 
Here always in the forest, will you, Francis? 
Oh do come back! I think your father is much 
Impatient that you stay away so long. 
He looked at 'me so angry when I asked 
This morning if you were at home; he snapped 
A surfy 'No,' and sent me off. 

FRANCIS. 

Forget 
The unkindness, Angelo. I will be kind 
To you instead. Awhile be patient yet, 
And then some day, when you become a man, 
I'll take you as my constant friend, you'll be 
My son, and always live with me. 

ANGELO. 

Thanks, Francis. 

61 



01 happiness! Oil may that joyous day 
Soon come! 

FRANCIS. 
Go now, my child, and be consoled- 
God's blessing go with you, and keep your way; 
His Ble'ssed Mother Mary smile on you; 
Your holy Angel hover over you. 
And shield his little client from all harm. 

ANGBLO. 
Farewell, good master Francis. Do come home 
soon. [Exit. 

FRANCIS. 
My father angry? I can well believe 't, 
Nay, I foresaw my flight would swell his rage. 
Oh! why then did I flee? I fear, my God! 
That I did play the coward in the trial: 
Did I not know that e'en a parent's wrath 
The soul must face intrepid for th'e God 
¥/ho calls to spiritual combat? Did I forget 
That I must persecution from without 
As boldly meet as battle bravely 'gainst 
My inner sinful self? No right have I 
To call myself God's soldier if I fly 
The field. Heaven's King will not acknowledge 

me 
His true knight till in all T overcome. — 
'Tis true, I have essayed my feeble might 
In some small measure, and by strength of grace 
Have several victories gained; but ah! how keen 
I felt I was a tyro in the lists. 
Unskilled in v/arfare with such crafty foes. 
The strife within was long: luxurious tastes, 

62 



Indulged for j'ears, v/ould not leave unavenged, 
But like a wanton, wilful troop of elves 
Before my fancy wildly danced and danced, 
And struck my memory sharp, my conscience 

lashed 
With many a blow of full deserved force. 
The tower self in man will not be expelled 
By violence; by hard, persistent fight, by long. 
Continuous self-denial is sin destroyed. 
And 'evil habits razed. — What »3train it cost. 
What shudder of abhorrence chilled my soul 
When my nice arms the leprous form embraced, 
And my fastidious lips did kiss the lazar hand! 
But Thou who wast Thyself by prophet voice 
A leper called, didst strong my weakness nerve, 
And after poured upon me greater joy 
Than I had great repugnance felt before. — 
O God in battle pov/erful! oh steel 
Each sinewy 15mb in this frail fabric! fix 
The fickle, fluttering heart in this faint breast. 
And steady, firm support and fortify 
My skittish infant spirit, fearless now 
That I may go to meet my father's wrath, 
And cabmly, boldly stand for my account. 
'Judge me, O God! defend my cause, my 

Strength! 
Deliver me from unjust, cunning man. 
Send forth Thy light and truth; unto Thy hill 
They'll lead me, to Thy tabernacles sweet; 
And I will go to the altar of God, to God 
Who gladness gives unto my youth.' 

[Retires to grotto. 

63 



Enter Giovanni, 
GIOVANNI. 
At last, at last! there h^ kneels. — O Francis I 
How long I searched, how much I sighed for 
you! 

FRANCIS. 
Giovanni! — Welcome to my heart. — You're come 
To fetch me home, say 't, friend. 
GIOVANNI. 



FRANCIS. 
I am prepared. 



I am 

'Tis well; 



GIOVANNI. 

Well said, well said, my Francis. 
Your father is indignant at your flight, 
And 'madly threats, if you return not prompt. 
He'll halve you hunted, seized, and strict im- 

m^ured. 

FRANCIS. 
No need of violent means; I'll willing come. 
Yet not because he threatens force; his threats 
Are vain: no suffering, nay, not even chains, 
Can sadden me, or fetter my free soul. 
No longer am I tossed on doubtful waves; 
Calmed is the writhing surge; the tempeist's 

roar 
Is stilled; the murky clouds are blown away; 
And from the cleared sky mildly descends 
The light of God's unwavering ken, whose sheen 
And warmth such flood of inner joy outpour 
Upon my universal being, as naught 

64 



On earth can turbid stir or roll away. 

GIOVANNI. 
How strangely true! your 'maciated face 
Mirrors your soul e'en through your tear- 
stained eyes; 
It seems to me that never did you wear 
Upon your brow a look so light and bland, 
A smile so heavenly suave. 
FRANCIS. 

Oh! think 't not strange; 
Now first I 'gin to live; so far my life 
Was all a dream. 

GIOVANNI. 

A dream? 
FRANCIS. 

My life began 
That night. 

GIOVANNI. 
Oh yes! that night, that night! — 'O' Francis! 
How all your friends regret what chanced that 

night! 
They daily come, and ask me to explain; 
Some are amazed, and angered some, and all 
Most deeply grieved. 

FRANCIS. 
Let them not mourn for me, 
But joy with me, for I have found a treasure. 

GIOVANNI. 
I understand you not. 

FRANCIS. 

I tell you true: 
A treasure exceeding rich. 

65 



GIOVANNI. 

A treasure? 
FRANCIS. 

I've found 
The pearl of great price. 

GIOVANNI. 

You speak riddles, Francis. 
FRANCIS. 
Come, dear Giowanni, let me solve them now. 
Here in this grotto is 'my treasure. Here 's 
The scene of my profound delights; the place 
Where I mid bitter-sweet emotions hold 
Converse with my Beloved. Here I wail 
Amidst unspeakable groanings my lost youth, 
And revel in the contrite love of Him, 
My Love, whom alll too late I've known, too late. 
Too late I've loved. — See, where my Treasure 

hangs! 
When I contempllate His bare, stripped form 
My spirit burns with irrepressible flames 
Of love which sweep aloft to His embrace. 
And penetrate my soul with glowing love 
For His unspotted fair, His faithful spouse, 
The Lady Poverty. And when I hear 
The voice of my Beloved, ineffable joy 
My being o'erflows; hot, scalding tears suffuse 
My eyes when I behold His pallid face. 
My heart with infinite pity breaks, for — 
My Love is Crucified. — 
Francis entera grotto; Giovanni kneels without. 
Amid soft, angelic music Francis is heard to pray. 



66 



Flow, tea rsl ohflowl fall freely, fa st^ 
Bathe, bitter streams, my sordid past: 
Weep, eyes! oh weap! weep to the last: 
My Love, my Love is Crucified! 

Sum, soul, oh burn v^ith keen desire! 
Melt in the flame thy God's just ire; 
Warm thy chill being In His love's fire; 
Thy Love, thy Love is Crucified! 

Sreak heart! oh break! thy Love is dead; 
Thy Love who for thy love has bled; 
With pierced limbs and thorn-crowned head; 
Thy Love, thy Love is Crucified! 

O Love! O Saviour Crucified! 
Oh take nne in Thy wounded side! 
There, sweetest Lord! let me abide. 
And die for love. Love Crucified! 

Re-enter Francis, 
FRANCIS. 
Arise, and let us go. — 
O Father! 'as the apple of Thy eye 
Keep me, and 'neath the shadow of Thy wings 
Protect Thy child.' ]Exeunt. 



ACT V, 

SCENE 1. — Giuseppe's country seat in an outlying 
district of Assist. Enter Giuseppe, Alberto, 
Ambrogio, Eduardo and Luigi. 

GIUSEPPE. 

Welcome, companions. What news from 
th' city? 

AMBROGIO. 
Nothing but talk of Francis. 
ALiBERTO. 

They say he 's mad. 
AMBROGIO. 
Some even whisper disinheritance. 

GIUSEPPE. 
It seems that both are mad, with rage the 

father. 
And with religion-craze the son. — ^^Strange world! 

ALBERTO. 
A sad and sudden fall it is indeed: 
A butt of ridicule he has become 
To all who once by all was idolized. 

LUIGI. 
Inconstant as the sportive vane 's the appllause 
Of men, unstable as the river's flood; 
No test it is of good or ill desert 
To 'gain or lose the vulgar's grace. 
GIUSEPPE. 

And yet, 
I think the popular voice in this correct. 

68 



And, to speak unreserved, I long have thought 
The poet's frenzy lurked in him, which late 
Or soon would burst its bonds and reckless 
rave. 

LUIGL 
Why may 't not be, he 's but a fool for Christ? 

GIUSEPPE. 
More kind than true. 

LUIGL 

Perhaps he sees too far 
For our contracted view to comprehend. 
Who knows but he is called by God great things 
To execute. 

ALBERTO. 

The two Leones speak 
Of seeking Francis out to associate 
Themselves with him, convinced that not a mad 
Caprice inspirits him, but God's behest. 

EDUARDO. 
Giovanni is gone to search, perhaps to join, 
His hiding friend. 

GIUSEPPE. 

No hot enthusiast 
But always finds a goodly following. 

LUIGI. 
The reason deeper lies: their loving natures 
Do find it hard to untie the friendly knot. 
And pardon me to say 't: we'd be inclined 
As they, were we but candid to ourselves. 

EDUARDO. 
For me, I'm not repelled, albeit I disapprove; 

69 



Something in him magnetic draws and spells 
The heart. 

ALBERTO. 
Francis has power to charm; some touch 
He knows which strikes the sympathetic cord 
That consonous to the music of his heart 
Responds. 

LUIGI. 
He's born to lead and rule his fellows. 

AMBROGIO. 
I thought so once; and hoped he'd lead us all 
To fame and glory. 

GIUSEPPE. 

My hopes in him are dead. 
LUIGI. 
Nay, why so pessimistic? The untoward day, 
Remember, at last into the restful bosom 
Of evening sinks, transformed on the morrow 
With brighter sun to rise. Oiur little life's 
Most happy hours are born of gentle Patience, 
The laboring mother of a thousand joys. 
More cheer, therefore, and hopeful thoughts, 

Giuseppe. — 
And friends, now let us off to Bernardone's. — 
If aught, Giuseppe, ere night we llearn of 

Francis, 
Directly we will send you word. Farewell. 

GIUSEPPE. 
Farewell, comrades. 

ALL. 

Farewell. [Exeunt. 

70 



SCENE I.—Aaaiai. A street. 

Enter Leone Sandali and Leone Bellino. 

LEONE SANDALI. 

But will he, think you, Francis find? 
LEONE BELLINO. 

There's none 
Knows better where to seek, and none whose 

voice 
So sure will win our loved fugitive, 

LEONE SANDALI. 
A noble youth, to 's friend unflinching true. 

LEONE BELLINO. 
Of all our number 't was Giovanni alone 
Who not a moment palled mid Francis' change. 

LEONE SANDALI. 
A deep religious soul, a heart of gold. 

LEONE BELLINO. 
Look! Bernardone. 

Enter Bernardone. 
BERNARDONE. 
Where 's that headstrong son 
Of mine? Speak! have you heard of him? 
LEONE BELLINO. 

Not we, 
Except that he is fled, and that to-night 
He might return. 

BERNARDONE. 

I heard loud distant cheers; 
You heard them not? 

LEONE BELLINO. 

We heard the far off cries 

71 



As of a flouting crowd, but heeded them 
No further. 

BERNARDONE. 
Most like the herald-cry of Francis, 
That boasted leader of your set, who 's shamed 
His house and drawn upon himself the scorn 
Of all Assisi. 

LEONE SANDALI. 

Oh! here comes Francis. 

BERNARDONE. 

Where? 
LEONE BELLINO. 
With Giovanni. 

BERNARDONE. 
'Tis he. — ^Now bend or break. 
Enter Francis and Giovanni. 
LEONE S. and LEONE B. 
Welcome home, Francis! 

FRANCIS. 
Thanks. — My greetings, father. 
BERNARDONE. 
Refractory son, come at last to obey? 

[Exit Leone S. and Leone B. 
FRANCIS. 
My father, in all that's right I will obey. 
But never may I do what God offends. 

BERNARDONE. 
Do you not God offend breaking His law? 
You'd fly to mawkish piety, the while 
You've not yet learned the good child's primal 
rule: 

72 



'Honor thy father and thy mother." 

FRANCIS. 

My fat.^ier, 
Always I honor you, love and obey, 
But when your precept contradicts the voice 
Of God, my Heavenly Father, I invoke 
That other word which binds no less and says: 
'More meet it is God to obey than men ' 

BERNARDONE. 
My son, in you I placed my hopes, with yon 
I shared my gains; your filial love, I thought. 
Would comfort my declining years, your gifts. 
So full of promise, honor bring to our house. 
And its respected name perpetuate. 
Oh! do shake off the silly pious fit 
That so disfigures you, and so much grieves 
Your father's heart! Come, live with me again, 
And be your former self. 

FRANCIS. 
Good father, I know and feel with you your 

grief. 
But to console you stands not with me now. 
May He who came to sunder the tenderest ties 
Comfort my dearest father in this trial. 
God calls; and Him I must, I will obey. 

BERNARDONE. 
A plague on such cold sympathy! Hear -me, 
Unnatural child: since you are obstinate, 
And steel your heart against your father's 

prayers. 
He'll trample nature too, and let you feel 

73 



A parent's wrath. Here I reclaim from you 
The money which by me was freely given, 
Or which yourself did from my treasury take. 

FRANCIS. 
You shall have all; here's the untouched purse 
Which at Foligno I procured and brought 
To San Damiano's. 

BERNARDONE. 

Further, wilful son, 
I disinherit you. 

GIOVANNI. 

What ! — Bernardone ! 
BERNARDONE. 
And do demand that you appear in court 
To-morrow to renounce in legal form 
Before the magistrate all; right and claim 
To be my heir. 

FRANCIS. 

I plead im'munity: 
The small remainder of my days I've vowed 
To God's sole service in the Church; no more 
Am I amenable to secular power. 

BERNARDONE. 
Miserable wretch! to tlT Bishop then you'll 

come, 
Escape you shall not, that I warrant you. 

[Exit. 
FRANCIS. 
Yes, father, before the Bishop I'll appear; 
He is the Lord and father of souls. Whate'er 
The holy Guido will decide I'll take 

74 



Full as from God. — Come, faithful friend. 
Giovanni, pity me not, rejoice with me that I, 
Unworthy sinner, am worthy held to suffer 
For Christ, my Lord; the pupil's tardy mind 
Opens at last to take the serious word 
Which is the Master's test of scholarship: 
'He who renounces not all he possess 
Cannot be 'my disciple.' [Exeunt. 

SCENE 3. — Assisi, A room in the Bishop's house. 
Guido seated on a throne, surrounded by at- 
tendants. A concourse of people, among 
them Giuseppe, Alberto, Amhrogio, Eduardo, 
Leone Sandali, Leone BeDino, Luigi, and 
Angela; most conspicuous are Giovanni, 
Bernardone, and Francis. 

GUIDO. 

Now Francis, Pietro Bernardone's son. 
Step forth. 

FRANCIS. 
Thy humble servant, gracious lord. 
GUIDO. 
My son, thy father grievous is incensed 
Against thee. For what cause thou knowst. If 

then 
Thou purpose, as we hear, to consecrate 
Thyself to God and give thy days to serve 
His Church, this is our counsel, yea, our com- 
mand: 
Restore to Signor Bernardone all 
He claims as his. It may well be, that part, 

75 



At least, of what thou hast, no claim can plead 
Of absolute right; besides, it can not be 
God's will thou use, e'en though for eacred ends, 
Such money as your father occasion brings 
Of sin. — Now th'en, my son, what hast to say? 

FRANCIS. 
Your lordship's voice to me "s the voice of God; 
In this and all things humbly I obey. 

GUIDO. 
A noble and a dutiful reply. 
Thy reverential and submissive spirit 
Doth greatly in my eyes commend thy cause. 
And for the rest fear not. If from above 
Thy mifssion truly come, then He who inspired 
The work will also happy issue give. 
In naught, 'my son, God needs man's petty help: 
No impotent hand Omnipotence requires 
To finish marvellous 'deeds divine. If God 
Calls thee to high things He wants not the 

means 
To bring thee to the loftiest heights. But know, 
These only they safe climb and prosperous reach 
Who start e'en at the lowest base, the deep 
Of humbleness, and keep their constant view 
On Him by whose sole grace they do ascend 
The Holy Mount. — Be thou then strong, my son; 
God who exalts the humble, and the proud 
Doth from their seat cast down, will lead thee 

still. 
And lead thee to the end. who hast so well 
Begun to walk the footsteps of the meek 
And humble Saviour. — 

76 



FRANCIS. 
Most Reverend Pastor and Father of my soul. 
How shall I, unlettered man, express my thanks? 
Thy words, so full of saintly unction, I felt, 
Like quickening dew, fall softly on my soul. 
Each thing that I till now have called my own, 
The very garments that do corver me. 
With willing, yea, with joy-exulting heart 
I now return to him who gave them me. 
Never was I so eager to accept 
As now I am desirous to renounce. — 

GUIDO. 
Well said, my son, well said. 

FRANCIS. 
Today, ah! yes today, O heavenly Father! 
Thy hand doth loving set Thy erring child 
On's way of life traced by Thy Providence: 
From kin divided, of plush and scarlet stripped, 
All worldly goods bereft, yet rich enough 
Secure on Thy great Bounty thrown. 
O blessed Saviour! Thy own fair spouse, who 

ne'er. 
From crib to cross did leave Thy side, today 
Thou givest me as bride and portion here: 
May I, my sweetest Lord! this sacred trust 
Forever inviolate keep, may I ne'er prove 
Unfaithful to my plighted love. 
And Thou, O Holy Spirit! keep this bond 
Forever tied: upon the espousals blest 
Breathe life and ever fruitfulness. — 
O fairest fair! my God's own fair: oh come! 



77 



And be my love, My Lady Poverty. 

Puts all he has at Bernar doners feet; doff a 
his mantle, and appears in a hair shirt. 
Bernardone snatches all, and exit. 

Now know ye all: up to this hour I called 
iSlgnor Pietro Bern,ardone father. 
Henceforth most truly I will say and pray: 
'Our Father who art in heaven.' 



^^ 



78 



AR 14 1912 



laiiiii 

015 897 312 1 



